The Prince of Darkness
by FallenMystery
Summary: This is for the Slytherin who stands alone. This story is not about kind Draco, or in love with the Mudblood Draco. This is about Draco Malfoy, the Prince of Darkness.
1. The Truth

A/N: Now, to my faithful readers. This story is a far cry from my usual. There will be little humour, and as far as I can tell, no fluff. If I can help it, there will not be any Ocs, and the characters' personalities will be as canon as possible. I just wanted to try something new. Yes, I was looking at pictures of Tom Felton.

The Prince of Darkness 

The nightmare tore Draco Malfoy from an already fitful sleep. It wasn't the first time he had had that particular vision. And just like normal, it left a sour taste in his mouth and a scowl on his sharp features.

The lines between Draco's eyebrows deepened as he looked over to see Snape sleeping soundly. How did he manage it? The man had _killed_ Albus Dumbledore. Just having seen the man's death was giving Draco nightmares, yet still the Death Eater slept on.

Draco stood and moved about restlessly, unconsciously smoothing his blonde hair. (A/N: Yes, his hair is naturally fabulous.) He would tell Voldemort that he, Draco, had killed Dumbledore. It was worth his life. More than that, it was also worth his mother's life. Lucious was in Azkaban, so the task of Narcissa's protection lay on her son.

"Stop pacing, boy," an irritable voice snapped.

Draco's silver eyes narrowed as he looked at the murderer. Then his face relaxed into its usual handsome lines. "Sorry," he muttered, leaning against a tree.

Severus Snape was loyal to the Malfoy family, more strongly even than to the Dark Lord. He was faithful to Narcissa and treated Draco like a son.

The Unbreakable Vow was strict. Severus must watch over Draco and keep him from harm. He had never _wanted_ to kill Dumbledore, but he agreed to help Draco because of the guilt he would feel if the boy failed his task to die at the Dark Lord's hand.

"Professor," he said. Old habits die hard. "If you would like to leave—find somewhere safer…"

The ironic smile in the man's eyes made Draco trail off. The token Slytherin smirk—softened—tugged at his lips. "Draco, my fate is tied. My task is to keep you from harm." He paused, thinking over his next words, then decided against voicing them. Instead, he looked at Draco for a long minute and nodded, as if to himself. Draco, used to the dark man keeping his own council, didn't ask. Snape sighed and gathered his hair into a horsetail. "Let's go. The Dark Lord awaits us."

.xXx.

Draco kneeled, head bowed, the absolute posture of submission. Some may find it funny—Draco's attitude. He strutted around as if he owned the world—until he was in the presence of people he respected, feared.

The Dark Lord had his back turned to the trio—Snape, Narcissa, and Draco. Snape stood on Draco's right, just behind him, Narcissa was on Draco's left.

"So you tell me that Albus Dumbledore is dead by your own hand, Draco Malfoy?" hissed the snake-like voice.

"Yes, My Lord." Was the quiet, yet firm response.

The Dark Lord turned to face the small triangle. "Look at me." Draco looked up. Those silver didn't lie. They spoke of fear, anger, and was that hatred? Did Lucious Malfoy's son hate his Lord? The thought amused Voldemort.

"And the rest of you?" He looked to the Death Eaters who had witnessed the murder. "You saw it?"

"Yes, My Lord," they chorused. Death Eaters didn't betray each other. Either way, Dumbledore was dead, so it didn't matter.

"Well then. You have redeemed your family's honor, Draco. No more will I remember your father's… embarrassment."

"You are too kind, My Lord," the boy murmured.

"Probably," the Dark Lord agreed. "But know this, Draco. If I ever catch wind of a breath of rebellion from you…" his eyes flickered to Narcissa, then back to Draco. "Use your imagination."

"Of course, _My Lord_."

Voldemort smirked. The expression wasn't nearly as attractive as it was on the young blonde Slytherin. "Watch yourself. You are dismissed."

The room cleared obediently.

.xXx.

Harry looked down at the crumpled paper in his hands.

_To the Dark Lord,_

_I know I will be dead long before you read this, but I want you to know that it was I who discovered your secret. I have stolen the real Horcrux and intend to destroy it as soon as I can. I face death in the hope that when you meet your match, you will be mortal once more._

_**R.A.B.**_

Could it have really been who Harry thought it was? Had yet another Black betrayed his roots? Maybe Sirius was wrong about his younger brother. Either way, Regulus Black had already paid his life, and perhaps his destruction of the Horcrux had been the cause.

Growling, Harry looked up at his parents' graves. "Reckon you were right about Snape, Dad," he told them. "Nasty git, he is. Of course, I could have told you that. He killed Dumbledore. I saw it with my own eyes." Harry paused. "He sold you out. To Voldemort, can you believe it. Probably. He and Pettigrew. I swear, I will use every last breath in my body to track down the filthy git. He owes me blood. When I find him, he will pay for the both of your lives. Sirius and Dumbledore's, too. Voldemort will pay for more than that. And if Malfoy gets in the way, too bad for him." The young wizard nodded with finality. He leaned down to arrange the bouquet of lilies between the graves. "I swear," Harry Potter whispered.

Harry returned to Ron and Hermione, who were waiting a respectful distance away. "Hermione, I need you to do me a favor."

.xXx.

Ginny looked up when the owl tapped on the glass window. She opened the window to let the bird in, frowning when she realized that it was Hedwig. The snowy owl dropped a letter and left, causing Ginny's frown to deepen.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione had disappeared soon after the wedding to avenge Dumbledore. No one had heard from then since. She opened the letter, her eyes stalling on the familiar handwriting.

Gin— 

_You said that I would never bee happy unless I was hunting Voldemort. You were nearly right. I was happy with _you,_ too. But now I can't fail. Ron and Hermione—they know. The prophecy, Ginny, it said that Voldemort couldn't live while I did, and vice versa. It's even more true now. I can't say if we'll meet again, but if we do, the world will forever be free of Voldemort. Say it for me, will you? Voldemort. If we meet again… everything will be fine. It will be okay, Gin. And if it isn't, then promise me you'll go on. It's the best defense we've got._

_Love,_

_Harry_

Ginny's eyes widened when she realized what he was saying. An Unbreakable Vow. He had sworn to kill Voldemort.

The price of breaking the Unbreakable Vow? Was death.


	2. Unrest

A/N: Want more Harry? Too bad, this is Draco's story, sillies!

Draco restlessly prowled the halls of the Dark Lord's keep. Voldemort wasn't about to let Lucious Malfoy's son out of his sight. The tight watch chafed the young Slytherin, but he accepted that his master could afford to let him slip away.

Time _was_ slipping away, however, and it was drawing nearer, Draco could feel it. They would call it the Final Battle, but it wouldn't be, not really. As long as Good existed, then so would Evil. They coexisted as much as day and night. Without one, the other could not be.

Draco irritably raked his fingers through his hair, scowling. The Dark Lord had not wanted the Malfoy son to live through his first task. Surely he would make certain Draco died in battle.

No matter what, he was certain he would die with his wand in hand. Draco pulled the wand from his pocket. It was a beautiful thing, really. 14 ½ inches of rosewood with a dragon heartstring core, a slim dragon twined around the base. He subconsciously ran his thumb over the dragon, back and forth.

Soon his wand would be used for more than childish jinxes.

Back and forth.

True curses would spring from its heart.

Back and forth.

Unforgivables.

Back and forth.

He missed his father.

Back and forth.

Potter would pay.

Back and forth.

Avada Kedavra, perhaps.

.xXx.

"Draco." The voice was snakelike but familiar. Nearly like his father's voice.

"Yes, my lord?" Draco asked, turning around to face the creature he served with such loyalty.

"Now, Draco, I've been thinking," the Dark Lord said, putting an arm around Draco's shoulders. "Of how I could reward you for such… stoic loyalty. So, two days from now, you will lead the other Death Eaters into battle. I will follow behind you as a sort of overseer, but I have confidence in you, young Malfoy."

"My lord, this is such an honor." Honor my ass. "Thank you." For sending me to a most certain death.

The Dark Lord smiled pleasantly and walked away. Draco's metallic eyes were emotionless.

.xXx.

"Harry, we haven't got a choice," Hermione deadpanned. "Voldemort's army will be there. It _will _come to a fight. All we can do is organize everyone who is still loyal to the Light."

Harry sighed heavily and nodded. "I know." He looked up at his two friends. "This is it."

"The final battle," Ron said, awed.


	3. Battle

A/N: Want more Harry? Too bad, this is Draco's story, sillies!

The cruel wind whipped the still faces. Draco stood at the front of his army, facing the other. A great mass of dark, masked figures behind him, familiar faces in front of him.

The Hogwarts professors had dispersed themselves tactfully. Professor McGonagall was looking particularly grave. There were innumerable Aurors and everyday wizards. Amongst this, there were the Ravenclaws, cold and calculating in their intelligence. A spattering of Hufflepuffs to the right, even Justin. A couple of Slytherins stood in the center, stubborn and rebellious, their lifted chins daring anyone to object to their presence. The Gryffindors, of course. Proud and brave, school scarves wrapped tightly around their necks. The Weaselys were a long, fiery chain in the very front. Just in font of them stood the Golden Trio.

"Volemort!" Harry shouted, though twenty yards were all that stood between the armies. "Surrender now or reap all that you have sowed."

Draco laughed haughtily and removed his mask. Murmurs ran though the colorful crowd. "Potter, when will you learn?"

"Malfoy, where's Voldemort?" he demanded.

"As if he could be bothered by something so petty. In fact, Potter—"

"Avada Kedavra!"

Draco ducked the curse, putting his mask back on. The armies erupted into action. Draco acted quickly, stunning Ginny Weasely. He then found himself attacked by a furious and wolf-like Bill, who thought his baby sister was dead.

A curse from Bill cut open Draco's cheek, which was not covered by the mask. Draco used a thrusting spell to knock Bill backwards. A crack was heard as the fall broke one of Bill's ribs.

Fleur, livid with rage, nearly pounced on Draco, screaming. He quickly dealt with her. Then he heard a shriek that could only belong to Hermione Granger. Draco looked up to see her point at Ginny's still body. Ron followed her gaze and turned very, very pale. Then he saw Draco.

_Goodness, that little redhead is causing a lot of trouble,_ mused Draco as he fought off Ron. "That's my sister!" Ron shouted, throwing every curse he knew. Draco knocked Ron aside and pressed forward.

.xXx.

Harry looked up to see Draco Malfoy's blonde head. If the Death Eater's hood hadn't fallen back, Harry would not have recognized this grim, masked figure. The Slytherin was a bloody, dirty mess.

"A battle, Potter? Just you and me. We'll end all of this. The sooner the better."

"Why?" Harry asked, wary.

Draco was tired of the bloodshed. If he lived, the screams of mortally wounded men and women would haunt him for forever. "Does it Matter, Potter?" he asked, looking Harry over. The Gryffindor was a bloody spector with tormented eyes. Draco's face, beneath the mask, was still.

"All right."

Draco himself drew a ward around them so that no one could interfere. Harry watched silently as Draco set aside his mask and black cloak. They were bowing when they heard the voice.

"Harry, what are you doing?" Hermione screamed. "He _killed_ Ginny!" Harry's eyes became frightening.

"Crucio!"

"Crucio!"

"Avada Kedavra!"

"Stupefy!"

"Sectumsempra!"

"Expelliarmus!"

They dodged the spells frantically. "Why aren't you trying to kill me?" Harry demanded.

"I'm not a killer, Potter!"

"You killed Ginny!"

"I did not; she's only stunned!" they continued throw hexes.

"Why would you stun her?" Draco stumbled and got caught by Expelliarmus. Wandless, he backed up to lean against a solid tree that was included in the ward. Harry presented his wand at the Death Eater's throat.

"Kill me, Potter. You know you want to. You know by now that if I die, so does Professor Snape. Dumbledore's murderer would be dead. So go ahead, Potter, say it. Avada Kedavra."

Harry marveled at the Slytherin. Here he was, looking straight at his death, and his silver eyes were as emotionless as ever. His lips didn't quiver, his voice didn't tremble. Harry lowered his wand and sighed.

"What has become of us, Malfoy?" The Slytherin who stood before him was hardly the boy Harry met on the first day of Hogwarts. His hair was mussed, and his fair face was streaked with dirt and blood. His clothes were torn and ruined, but it was Draco's bearing that held the greatest change. He no longer stood like a prince who had the world at his feet. There was something in his manner that was nearly defeated.

"If you don't have the guts for this, Potter, I know who does." With that, Draco replaced his mask and cloak, then broke the circle. He advanced behind a slender brunette figure. "Hello, Granger," he whispered.

.xXx.

Hermione did not have to think twice as to what she was doing. "Stupefy!"

.xXx.

An Auror held each of Draco Malfoy's arms. His cloak was spread before him, his wand and mask set on top of it. All around him, Death Eaters were rounded up for Azkaban. The Slytherin's blonde head was bowed. Hermione approached them, a potion bottle in one hand, a rag in the other.

"It was a stupid thing to do," she said in a bossy tone, as if she were scolding a three year old child caught eating crayons, rather than a seventeen year old wizard who was leading the forces of evil.

Draco lifted his head in recognition of her voice. Hermione poured some of the potion on the rag and gently attacked the long cut on his cheek. "You disappointed me, Malfoy. For as much of a nasty little cockroach you always were, I thought you might turn out okay in the end."

He didn't flinch as the potion stung and burned his cut. "I thought that maybe—just maybe—you'd rise above it. You're a smart kid. But you know what else? You're cruel. Wicked. And you know what they say, Malfoy." Hermione leaned forward to whisper the last words in his ear. "No one mourns the wicked."


	4. The End

Draco surveyed the wizards and witches with a cool, calm expression. They had judged him already. He was fine with that—he could expect no less, taking in to consideration his position. The golden trio glared accusingly at him as others whispered about how they 'had always known' that the Malfoy house was a bad name. The minister looked down upon him condescendingly.

"_Draco Malfoy,"_ he announced. _"Seventeen year old wizard. Son of Lucious Malfoy, known Death Eater. Apprentice to Severus Snape, known Death Eater. Speaker and leader for He Who Must Not Be Named. Murderer. Con artist. Impersonator. Caster of Unforgivables: known Crucio, known Imperio, suspected Avada Kedavra. **Known Death Eater.** Convicted. _Here to plead lesser sentence in exchange of information about He Who Must Not Be Named."

All fell silent. Draco reveled in the silence. He maintained an image of cool disinterest. Finally, he spoke. "I am not here to plead my case innocent," he informed them, his velvet voice echoing in the scarily quiet chamber. "I am not here to tell you that I'm not a Death Eater. I am here to tell you…" he looked around slowly. The trio was leaning forward, anticipating his words. Could they know that admittance would mean his death? If so, they could not care. "I am here to give you the coordinates of the Dark Lord's resident castle."

.xXx.

Hermione stood, alone, in the icy wind. The pale gray sky cast a murky light onto the scene of despair and sorrow. She pulled her cloak tighter around her shoulders as she looked out on the graveyard. There were no living persons around to see her as she paced the rows to stop in front of a new, nondescript grave. Her face showed no emotion as she gazed at the freshly turned earth. The simple gray headstone read the name and the dates, nothing more.

Very calmly, the young Gryffindor trod to the side of the grave and gracefully folded her legs under her. She lay her upper body across the fresh dirt and breathed deeply for a moment before slowly dissolving into tears. Damn that _stupid, stubborn_ ferret.

"No one mourns the wicked," she whispered. _"No one_ mourns the wicked." It turned into a sort of mantra as she repeated it, over and over.

But the problem was, he wasn't wicked, and part of her had always known that. He had been caught up in it all because of his family. It wasn't his fault. And in the end, he sacrificed everything, anyway. It wasn't his fault. And he couldn't truly _be _wicked.

Because no one mourns the wicked.

Hermione sat up stiffly and tapped her wand twice on the headstone, then stood and crossed to the grave next to it. This one was far more elaborate, and she arranged a small bouquet in front of it, then kissed her fingers and touched them to the shining marble headstone. Then she said a sad farewell to the two boys who were caught up in a life that they couldn't control—it was all because of who they were.

.xXx.

No one paid much attention to the fact that a once nondescript headstone had changed to an elaborate silver masterpiece. Why would they? No one mourns the wicked.

Draco Malfoy 

_Slytherin_

"_No one mourns the wicked, so the wicked shall not be mourned. But always forbid that one who is not wicked shall be not mourned. We mourn for those who we did not help, for fear that they might be wicked. We mourn for you, Draco. And no one mourns the wicked."_

_Harry Potter_

_Gryffindor_

"_Once the boy who lived. A legend. For as long as there is Good, there shall also be Evil. There will never be a Final Battle. But legends are reborn, and when they leave us, they are mourned. Be glad that you were a legend, Harry Potter. Because no one mourns the wicked."_


End file.
